


Early Days

by JustAnotherNarrator



Series: The London Years [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: POV Second Person, Reader isn't much of an angel anymore, Reader-Insert, more like Human Plus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherNarrator/pseuds/JustAnotherNarrator
Summary: It took a little over a week for you and Crowley to leave Paris and head for London. After all, there were many things that needed tending to before uprooting yourself [...] and, truth be told, some of the hold up had been  due to your procrastination as your anxiety grew at the whole idea.[Written as part of a sequel to myStages of Beingsseries which I would recommend reading first for some context.]





	Early Days

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of you were hoping for a continuation to my previous stories and I hope this lives up to your expectations. As always, I hope you enjoy!

It took a little over a week for you and Crowley to leave Paris and head for London. After all, there were many things that needed tending to before uprooting yourself, and everything was slightly delayed, in part, by the fact neither of you left your apartment for two days after he’d convinced you to join him across the Channel. And, truth be told, some of the hold up had been due to your procrastination as your anxiety grew at the whole idea. 

There was no denying that you wanted to be near the demon. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that you couldn’t quite understand why either of you had to leave this little bubble you’d created for yourselves right here, in Paris, in order for that to happen. You understood that London was important to him, and that he had his life there, but Paris was important to you, and you had your life here. That was what you told yourself, at least, and you had repeated it often enough over the week to have nearly persuaded yourself that it had been the only reason, but deep down, in a corner of your mind that you tried to ignore, you knew better. The true reason for your fears and worries was the fact that he had made a life for himself in London; a life that you were unsure how - or if - you would be able to fit in. You’d been a recluse for so long that the idea of having more than just Crowley around felt overwhelming, especially when it came to the matter of the other angel in his life.

_Aziraphale._

To his credit, Crowley had assured you that you wouldn’t need to meet him right away if you didn’t want to, once he’d realised just how hard it was for you to rationalise the fact that the Principality had not replaced you, that was. You were slowly getting more receptive to that idea but, old habits die hard, as they say. Especially when said habits were over fifty centuries old. 

Despite his assurance though, on your very first morning in London, you find yourself standing in the doorway to Crowley’s kitchen, looking back and forth between the demon and the aforementioned angel. 

The two of you had arrived in London late the night before and after giving you a tour of the flat - which was oh so very him - your old friend had noticed you yawning and guided you to the bedroom. By then, he’d come to understand that, given your particular situation, you require a lot more sleep than a regular angel, or demon for that matter. He didn’t seem to mind either, climbing into bed with you and holding you until you drifted off. Sometimes he would still be there when you woke up, sometimes not but he’d never be far away. 

This morning had been one of the times when he’d gotten either bored or restless. You’d been half asleep when you’d felt his lips against your bare shoulder; you didn’t know why, but he seemed quite taken with kissing the spot where your mangled right wing should be. You’d stirred a little and felt his weight disappear from the large bed with a soft hiss, his scales brushing over your calf as he slithered off, doing his best not to fully wake you.

You had rolled over, burying your face back into the plush pillow, hoping for a few more hours of sleep when much to your surprise - and from his tone of voice, his as well - you’d hear Crowley talking to somebody. Intrigued, you’d forced yourself out of bed, quickly gathering off the floor a set of cream coloured pyjamas and putting them on; you had planned to wear them to bed the night before, but such a plan had been quite opposite to what your demonic host had had in mind and the pyjamas had been disposed of hastily.

“...only got in late last night and I totally forgot,” you heard Crowley say, as you followed the voice down a darkened corridor, ending up in the doorway of the kitchen where you now stood. You voice, as you call his name questioningly, hangs in the air as both of them turn in your direction.

Your eyes, of course, go to Crowley first as his mouth forms a nearly perfect ‘O’ when he sees you standing there. A second later, he’s giving you an apologetic half-smile, seemingly sorry that things chose to take an unexpected turn so early in your stay. You turn your head to look at the other man standing there, pulling nervously at his waistcoat as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Crowley. There he is. The other angel. Aziraphale.

The lanky demon standing awkwardly between the two of you finally clears his throat and makes the introductions and you watch as the one you’ve considered your rival for an extremely long time does a double take, his mouth hanging open before turning into a wide smile. 

“Oh! Oh my! Oh, this is-- this is an unexpected treat to finally get to meet you,” he exclaims in a giddy tone, walking over and taking one of your hands in both of his. You freeze as you get this overwhelming feeling of angelic love taking over you, something you haven’t experienced in so long, it nearly knocks the wind right out of your lungs. This is so much to contend with that you don’t know whether you want to scream or laugh or start sobbing - and if you did, you would have no idea if it would be out of joy or pure anguish - and for a moment, you even consider running back to Crowley’s bedroom, packing your bags and getting as far away from this feeling as possible. 

This whole time, the other angel is talking excitedly but you cannot make out any of the words he’s saying, only managing to catch the very end of his tirade. “...mentioned you many times over the centuries but I was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t invented you, since I’d never gotten the pleasure of making your acquaintance neither down here or, you know, up there.” He ends with a chuckle, pointing toward the ceiling.

You glance over at Crowley, in part to beg of him to get the other angel - _The **real** angel_, a little voice in the back of your mind whispers. - to let go of you, but also because those words are now finally making their way inside your brain and you find yourself quite intrigued as to what he might have said about you over the years. You can almost feel the embarrassment radiating off of him, and he looks like he wouldn’t actually mind if Hell was to reclaim him right now, dragging him down through the floor. You can’t help but think that the slight hint of blush on his cheeks and neck is rather endearing. 

“Alright, alright! That’s enough of that,” he declares when he finally catches you eyeing him, before telling Aziraphale to let go of your hand or he might break your wrist, waving his hands around for emphasis.

_He’s always had a flair for the dramatic._

The words are barely out of the demon's mouth, that the blond angel drops your hand, looking appalled at his behaviour for a moment as blood rose to his cheeks. “Oh goodness me, my apologies, my dear. I appear to have forgotten my manners in my excitement.”

“It’s alright,” you muster after a second, your arms wrapping themselves over your chest as if they might protect you from the strange flurry of emotions caused in you by this unexpected interaction with someone from your side. It’s been so long since another angel reached out and touched you that you’d forgotten what it felt like. You also can’t help but wonder if Aziraphale might have been able to feel how distrustful of him you are; you cannot help it, not after so many centuries of anger and jealousy aimed at him, and also because you still don’t understand why he’s even here, in Crowley’s flat, at this time of the morning. Or at all for that matter. As all those thoughts rush through your brain, an awkward silence fills the kitchen. 

“I’ll…” You start, unsure of what you meant to say as your thumb runs along the soft fabric of your pyjamas. “...I’ll go get dressed, I think.”

Crowley just nods, but as you’re about to turn and walk back toward the bedroom, you notice the way Aziraphale’s eyes are shifting from you over to your old friend and then back again. He seems to be taking in the demon’s disheveled appearance as well as your sleepwear and coming to a conclusion that you can’t imagine being far from the truth given the uneasy look on his face and the quiet _Oh my..._ he murmurs.

At that point, you turn on your heels and head quickly down the corridor. You know for a fact that nothing in this universe can judge another as intensely as your kind can, and you have no intention of allowing another angel to pass judgement on you. There’s only one being that is allowed that right and She’s made Her views of you and your choices clear, nearly six millennia ago. 

Just as you’re about to enter the bedroom, you can hear Aziraphale whispering hurriedly. You can’t understand everything he’s saying but for a few words here and there: “Crowley, what did you… imagine the consequences! ...either side… they’ll punish… so stupid and dangerous!” 

The only response you hear from Crowley is an irritated hiss as you close the door behind you, resting your back heavily against it. A shaky breath leaves your body as you wonder, once again, why you couldn’t have just stayed in Paris.


End file.
